


Bound for Hell

by mrecookies



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Falling In Love, Guardian Angels, M/M, Sexual Tension, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrecookies/pseuds/mrecookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10 x 5 sentences about falling into temptation (wingfic with angel!Stiles). Slightly non-linear, with an ending that is possible ominous in nature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound for Hell

**Author's Note:**

> For 30muse; round 2, prompt #5: Typewriter Series #116, Tyler Knott Gregson [[X](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7e4uexpbn1qz8rpeo1_500.jpg)]. Also inspired by [this image](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lzd0r8ysUy1qck593o1_500.jpg), as well as the song [Demons](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/imaginedragons/demons.html) by Imagine Dragons.

"You're courting trouble," Derek says, mouth dangerously close to Stiles's neck.

Stiles doesn't move, just breathes in the heady heat of Derek's body, and relishes the way his wings rest along the rigid curve of Derek's back. "I don't care."

A growl escapes and runs itself along the freckles that dot Stiles's neck—the fact that there is a mirror on the opposite wall makes it worse, or better; Stiles doesn't have the mental strength to go down that path right now, not with— _oh my god_. He'll probably have to deal with that bit of blasphemy later, but Derek's lips are pressing down with a tiny hint of teeth, and Stiles's wings flutter with _want_.

*

It's not easy being an angel, let alone being _Scott's_ guardian angel, especially when Derek is always so snarky about werewolves having angels in the first place, because werewolves are an abominable sin. Stiles tends to glare at him for the snide pessimism for several reasons.

One, because Derek doesn't know _shit_ about guardians.

Two, because those comments make Scott all antsy, which makes him wolf out more often.

Three, because _no_.

*

Derek is the first one to touch Stiles's wings, because the dude has a love for creeping up on people unawares. It happens in Stiles's bedroom, when he's just about done unwrapping his wings after school. They fan out, nearly knocking a coffee mug over, and Stiles is checking the left one for any damage when there is a hand brushing against his right.

The bright red mug crashes onto the floor, and Stiles squawks, which is totally ungainly, because he could be legitimately compared to a chicken with his wings.

True to his nature, Derek doesn't apologize, just reaches out again, and Stiles—Stiles just lets him.

*

"I think I'd end up in hell," Derek says, leaning against Stiles's bed in one of their unofficial afterlife discussions that Stiles totally hates because it always ends with Stiles rolling his eyes at the Alpha.

"Stop pulling the Edward Cullen act," Stiles snaps, plucking a stray feather off his desk, "because if one day you're going to trade in that spiky hairdo for a pompadour à la Robert Pattinson, I don't want to see it. Erica and Lydia would probably shave it off; _that_ I want to see."

Today is different, because Derek is quiet after that, and looks younger than he usually is. A whiff of sadness floats in from his direction, and the werewolf is half out of the window when Stiles realizes that Derek's been thinking about Laura and the rest of the Hale wolves—well, _shit_.

*

Stiles gets his wings after he nearly dies in a car crash. Turns out dying is much like drowning; you just try to keep that last breath even though it burns your lungs and threatens to blacken your world.

He almost wakes up in the hospital twice, once to see his father's worried face before they wheel him into the operating theatre, and once in the room before the drugs take over again.

When he gets home under strict orders of bed rest, the itch in his shoulder blades grows until he wakes up with soft wings under his back. The rest, as Stiles likes to say, is Saran wrap and a piece of glowing paper on his desk.

*

"You make the best noises," Derek murmurs into the top of Stiles's head.

"What, like a squeaky toy?" And really, even as an angel, Stiles is terrible at managing his Adderall medication, because he actually lets out a passable imitation of what a rubber duck would sound like.

Derek snorts, shifting his warm body; his only answer is to tug Stiles closer by carding his fingers through the wings so as to reach the flesh, and Stiles can't help the groan that spills from his mouth. He bites down on his bottom lip, a second too late, and feels Derek's lips curl into a predatory smile against his forehead.

*

The truth is, when Stiles looks into Derek's red Alpha eyes, he sees dark emptiness flooded with bloodlust. The wolf state is primal and aggressive, and even though Stiles has never seen Hell, has never seen a demon, even though he's loathe to admit it, it scares the angel.

It doesn't scare _Stiles_ , it scares the _angel_ , and Stiles doesn't really know what that means, except that he knows that Derek knows, and that hurts.

No one has told Stiles the rules, but he's pretty sure that falling in love with a werewolf isn't on the list.

Fuck the rules.

*

Temptation has always been one of Stiles's weaknesses, he supposes. Always wanting to know more, to stick his nose into random bits of information, to leap from Google result to Google result in a mindless search for _more_.

It's the same with Adderall, same with grief, same with Derek.

He can't say when things changed—probably when he told the pack about his new wings and that he was apparently Scott's guardian angel and Derek started coming over to have heart-to-heart talks—but they did. Now everything is warped far worse that it was before the whole near-death experience and the growing of the wings, and Stiles doesn't know what to do; he hates feeling helpless and not knowing anything except that this _thing_ with Derek is going to damn Stiles, but he wants it anyway.

*

It's embarrassing, the way his wings shiver in response to Derek's proximity, although they are hanging out pretty close, Derek pressed flush against Stiles against the wall with the mirror—oh god, the mirror, where Stiles can see the sharp burn of the triskele tattooed on Derek's tanned skin being framed by Stiles's cream-colored wings.

"I don't care," Stiles says again, although his mind is pretty shorted out, and he's sure that he's minutes away from babbling nonsense out loud.

Derek pulls away from where he's nuzzling against Stiles's neck—Stiles is definitely going to get stubble burn from that but he does not give a _fuck_ —and Stiles actually makes a keening sound that is dangerously close to a whine.

"That's the problem," Derek mutters, his eyes flashing electric blue in the light of the setting sun before he leans forward to kiss Stiles in awkward passion, teeth clacking together before the angle twists and fits just right.

When Stiles opens his eyes and takes in a surfacing breath to refill his lungs, he notices that the tips of his wings that still rest against Derek's naked back have become a light gray.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure what's going on? Same here. I wrote a couple of short follow-ups to this piece, but I feel like this can stand alone, especially since I honestly have no idea how to deal with this verse!


End file.
